


What's in a Name

by uniquebydesign



Series: Dreamscape [1]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e05 The Weeping Lady, F/M, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquebydesign/pseuds/uniquebydesign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Crane pulled Abbie out of the water, he called her name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's in a Name

**Author's Note:**

> This just kinda popped out. I dunno.

Dreams are funny things. I’m never one to dream often and ever since I’ve begun living as a so-called “witness”, dreams have become more of a harbinger of what’s to come than anything else. They’re different from the run-of-the-mill dreams of being lost, chased, naked, whatever.

So when I see Captain Corbin sitting at his office not long after I’m pulled into slumber, confusion comes, fast and hard.

“Okay, great,” my heart kicks up a nice rhythm, and I can feel my lips press and flatten into a line. Suddenly staying still isn’t an option anymore, and my legs carry me from one end of his desk to another. “What do you need to tell me now? Is there another creature that we need to prepare for? Some sorta clue you wanna share—”

“Sit down, Abbie. You’re making me nervous.” Corbin drawls, mouth lifting up into a lopsided smile. It’s sunset, the light is cutting through the blinds, casting rectangles of amber light onto his skin. They hit his eyes and they shine briefly, before he turns his head and the light slides away.

Night time yoga obviously didn’t do its job because dream or not my body is still wired. It’s my mind that’s slow, barely working itself to a crawling speed.

“Crane and I just spent a day dealing with some vengeful ex-whatever of his that was resurrected and tried to drown me.” A pause. “And his wife.” Shaking my head I can feel a nice little headache begin to take root in the space between my eyebrows. Rubbing at it, my voice goes tight. “So excuse me if I’m a little...fidgety.”

Corbin’s laugh is a low rumble but the amusement doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sounds like a great way to spend a Friday evening.” I can feel his eyes track my movements for a few silent moments before he says, “You know kid, if you can’t relax in your dreams you’re gonna have a tough time when you wake up.”

I’m already having a tough time. Throwing him a look, I stop pacing mid-step to flop down onto the chair in front of his desk. “Happy?” It comes out more sulky than I mean it to.

“Yes I am.” Leaning back in his chair, I see his eyes really look at me since this whole thing started. The purple sacs beneath my eyes must look like bruises without makeup to help soften them. The lines around my mouth stand out against my paler skin and a thinner face. Bruises are blossoming on my upper arms from where the Weeping Lady grabbed me, doing her damnedest to drag me as far below the surface as possible.

Corbin’s got that look—like he’s making a mental list of all the changes he can see, before he moves on to staring me down. He notes the redness rimming my eyes before trying to pick apart what he knows lies beneath the surface.

I can only hold his gaze for thirty seconds before my eyes fall to his desk.

“So? Why are you here?” It comes out harsh, so I try again. “What do you need to tell me?”

He doesn’t speak until I meet his gaze again. “Sometimes, a dream is just a dream kid. I got nothin’ to tell you about what’s to come.”

“Then why—”

“Ever thought you might need to talk to me? Talk to somebody?” At my silence, his voice softens. “You’ve had a rough day, kid. Hell, you’ve been having a lot of those lately. You know I’m always here to lend an ear.”

Suddenly all I can smell is water, I can feel it burn my nose and mouth as I struggle to breathe, clawing upward to the surface, to his voice. The world around me dims, quiets, and there’s the strangest sensation of falling. Like drifting off to sleep.

A strong hand seizes me, his voice, loud and high, panicked. Then—

“He said my name.” My eyes are burning, the world is swimming in water.

“Who did?”

“Crane,” and his voice sounds like a plea when it leaves my lips, a prayer. Looking at Corbin only adds to the water building before my eyes, prepared to fall down my cheeks.

“Today, when I was drowning, he—” My throat closes up with a wet click. “He reached in the portal and pulled me out. I didn’t realize it then but I remember him calling my name. He never—it’s always Leftenant, always. Aside from the time he tried to take his life—but this time—”

My head drops down into my hand propped up on the chair’s armrest. Head shaking, it scatters my hair so that it tickles my bare shoulders, the tops of my arms. The words don’t come, broken and mangled, they stay in my mouth until I choke them back down.

“Names are a funny thing, Abs. They’ve got power we seldom recognize.” His uniform jacket creaks and crinkles as he leans forward in his chair, casting a shadow over me.

“They’re powerful things.”

Opening my eyes, the tears fall, rolling down my cheeks in silence.

“It felt good, knowing that he was worried about you, that he came for you. He wasn’t gonna let you die, wasn’t gonna give up on you.”

Air leaves my mouth on a sigh that sounds too much like a sob. I nod my head, hand shaking as it wipes my cheeks dry so new tears can take their place.

“You felt something, when Crane called your name, didn’t you?” It’s a question, but he says it like he already knows the answer.

Blinking my eyes to clear them before holding his gaze is the only answer I can give him. There are no words.

“Maybe you should think about why that is.” He says softly, reaching across the desk to rub my arm. The sunlight plays on his face again, and a smile works its way onto my lips for a moment, before it sours into a grimace.

Corbin hasn’t changed a bit, he still smells like sweetened coffee and aftershave. Every wrinkle, ever line on his face remains the same. His eyes are still warm, still bright.

“I really miss you.” There’s barely enough air behind the words to make them more than a whisper, but he hears me.

“Same here, kid.” There’s a sagging to his shoulders, a weight pressed across his back, that I remember, too. My trembling hand goes up to cover his, and breathing has become painful, every exhale sounds like a muffled cry.

“But I have a feeling you’re in good hands.”

The sunlight becomes too much, too bright, and the dream slips, dissolving before my eyes.


End file.
